


Perfect Day

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestics, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Ashes to Ashes compatible, See End Notes for Further Explanation, fluff with a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life might not happen as you wanted it to, but you take the good with the bad and you make better than the best with what you've been given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Life on Mars 2016 mini reversebang (@ **LJ** [here](http://lomreversebang.livejournal.com/))
> 
> The art I wrote for was done by **basaltgrrl** (I'll link to the sketch in my end notes). When I saw the sketch, I knew I needed to write SOMETHING for it, but I also knew that whatever I did write was going to have to go completely against the grain. And so, this pile of post-series, incredibly established relationship, AU, very alternate future ended up happening, and I am ever so delighted by what I managed to cobble together. And there is fluff, so much fluff, and character growth after many years living together, a softening of some things and a strengthening of others. I love writing in thinky!Gene's POV, he never lets me down.
> 
> Titled after Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day', which was suggested to me by the ever lovely **Breval** (she gave me endless handholding and help and countless brainstorming sessions with, and the story wouldn't half of what it is now if it wasn't for her ♥) (she also helped catch some tricky typos, thanks for that as well); thanks to **Loz** as well, who put the revbang together and gave me the thumbs up for posting this.
> 
> More rambling at the end (why I went with this song and what version I listened to in order to seal the decision! Why exactly did I want to interpret the picture the way I ended up??), plus that link to the sketch!

_6:13 am  
_

There's noise from the bathroom, shuffles and clicks and the whoosh of running water that Gene knows, without needing to be told, is Sam getting ready to leave for his morning jog. Pushing himself up on one elbow he squints at the clock, makes out the time – too sodding early, that's the bloody time – but that's what Sam likes best, getting his run in before the rest of the city wakes up. He grunts out a hoarse 'Have fun' before flopping back down into bed. His voice is still thick from sleep, his eyes itching to get some more rest, and he finds himself longing – like usual – for the heat of Sam's body stretched out beside him. And, just like usual, he knows he'll have to make due with the warm spot that's been left behind.

He snuggles down into it, covers pulled up to his shoulder. From across the room, Sam mutters something choice at him, but as Gene's already shut his eyes, he doesn't see any choice, accompanying gestures. Drifting back off to sleep, he's vaguely aware of the door clicking as Sam shuts it behind him – Sam's got no honest gripe with his slugabed tendencies, just like Gene's really got no gripe with Sam's tendency to wake before the sun. It's just the way it is, how they are.

Sam's footsteps recede down the stairs, but the first snore escapes Gene, who's too far gone to care.

_7:18 am  
_

The mattress dips to the left when he later rejoins Gene in bed, when the light smell of sweat, and early morning in Manchester, rain and road, wafts across Gene's senses. On top of all that is the very solid smell of Sam himself, who's pressing in close as Gene tucks an arm about him, pulling him in closer.

'Nice run?' he asks, rather more awake now, but just as unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed behind, and Sam's not daft for having joined him once more. No, this is precisely planned on Sam's part, him taking advantage of a very specific situation. It's the jog that gets Sam's blood pumping for the rest of the day, and it's Sam's scent after his jog that does the same for Gene.

Sam murmurs his yes, huffs out a giggling laugh as Gene dips in close, closer, nipping at his neck and licking at the sweat damp skin. 'God, Gene,' he groans, shifting as Gene moves the both of them, Sam sliding his hands up Gene's back, the scrape of his neatly trimmed nails a twinge of extra heat. There's so much Gene wants to do, to make the moment last, starting by licking at the damp of Sam's throat, followed with a nip of teeth and a humming, nuzzling kiss.

'You're gorgeous,' he says, and he means it, the way he always means it, even when it first slipped out, though perhaps looking back it was just as precisely planned.

Sam loves it when he compliments him, always pays him back in full. What that means is that they'll be much, _much_ dirtier by the time they finally get out of bed.

_7:53 am_

Sam's got the radio on low as he cooks, humming along with the song as he flips and rearranges the bacon in the pan, the belt of his apron done up in a tight bow. The music, for once, is agreeable enough, and so is the company, so Gene steps up behind him, slides his arms about Sam's waist. There's a bit of shower dampness left over in his hair, the smell of his shampoo and soap that's all over Gene as well.

He runs a hand up, and then back down, fingers brushing across Sam's belt buckle. He still wears his shirts tight, but for the most part his wardrobe is moving along with the times. He prefers some things still, like his short cut hair, and whatever black leather jacket he ends up wearing looks made for him, and only him. Gene feels like he needs some sort of change, and maybe even sometime soon. It could be a complete surprise, or he could keep Sam in the loop, bring him along as fashion adviser. That thought amuses him, and he muffles a laugh against Sam's shoulder.

'What's so funny?'

'Nothing important. What's for breakfast this morning, darling?' he drawls, and Sam chuckles, swats at his wrist lightly as he reaches over to sneak a piece of the bacon already set out on its platter.

'Well, there's most of a full fry up for the Guv – the tomatoes went off, sorry.' He sighs, tension running through his body, tension that shouldn't be there, not after the nice morning they've already been having. Sam, though, is capable of many things – and just like always has, he thinks things over until a saner man would realise he'd over-thought the situation into the ground.

'We need to get off our lazy arses and go do the shopping. How about Saturday?'

'Let me check my schedule.' He nuzzles at Sam's neck, and Sam giggles then groans. With a nipping kiss, Gene draws aback, gives his partner a tight squeeze. He's certain Sam's worries are more than what's gone off in the fridge, but Gene can bide his time. 'Oh, well look at that – I'm all free, you're in luck.'

'Aren't I always?' It's hypothetical enough, sweetly sarcastic but at the same time Sam means it completely. Gene, in turn and just as he always has since he first admitted to himself and to Sam as well that he was into this sort of thing, enjoys the feel of the tight, wiry strength of Sam's body against his own. When Sam laughs, Gene feels that, too, and he tightens his hold – just slightly – to better fit Sam in his arms. He nuzzles Sam's shoulder, and Sam murmurs appreciatively, that unnecessary tension easing off slightly.

'Don't keep me in suspense – what's for poor Gladys?'

'Whole wheat toast, and cereal that tastes suspiciously like cardboard. Oh, and strawberries.'

'Mmm, cardboard – lucky you.' Gene nips at Sam's earlobe, and Sam groans, shifting against him. 'Strawberries? And you say we need to shop. You've been holding out on me, haven't you? What other tasty treats do you have hidden?' He picks at Sam's collar, peering underneath it, and Sam groans, but this time it's a sound of annoyed, and somewhat dry, amusement.

'Give off already – the eggs are going to burn.' There's no real heat in his words, just a very pleasant warmth, but Gene eases off on the attack, kisses the place he'd nipped. It really would be a pity, if the eggs burned – so that's warning enough. He's mastered the sunny-side-up in ways his missus never cared to try, and Gene's not going to let a home cooked breakfast escape him, even if this is so old hat to the both of them by now, they could likely do it with their eyes closed, or their hands tied behind their backs. Oh well then, that's a nice thought – it gets the old cogs rolling – he'll have to suggest it to Sam, perhaps as a reward for getting the shopping done on Saturday.

Sam makes another soft noise, equally appreciative, before rolling on with the rhetoric, not having lost sight of his goal. 'The strawberries were a present. Annie brought 'em over yesterday, you hadn't got in from darts yet.'

'Oh. Have fun then, nice girl's night in?'

'Yep, like always. We knitted tea cosies and shared all the juiciest gossip. Then she painted my toenails and we both lamented that my hair was too short to be braided, before watching a few weepy things on the telly that made us bawl our eyes out..'

'Lots going on then – good. Wouldn't want you to get bored. Did she really paint your toes?'

Sam snickers softly. 'You'll have to find out yourself. Look, the berries are good – you should try one.'

Gene spots the bowl of them, the fruit quartered and ready to eat. One arm still snug about Sam's waist, he reaches out to grab one of the berries, lifts it up to Sam's mouth, lips brushing his fingertips – and lingering, sweetly – as Sam accepts the gift. The next goes into Gene's mouth, just as perfectly sweet, and with one final squeeze, he swallows it down and lets Sam go. 'I'll put the tea on.'

'Coffee for me, if that's okay.'

Of course it's okay, but that doesn't need to be said.

_8:00 am_

They're bickering already as they make their way into the station, right on time and right as rain. 'Christ, Tyler, don't make such a bloody fuss about it – I'll make sure you get a nice lunch, even if I have to tie you down and feed it to you myself.'

Sam sighs, strained. 'Good morning, Fred.'

The morning desk sergeant – a younger chap, who has mastered all the many witheringly effective scowls Phyllis would on her worst days, at least when he's in a bad enough mood – must be having a good day so far, so he smirks at the two of them as he gives them a once over. Gene's not as inhuman on the inside as some of his officers do, and always have, think he's capable of. He never really realised how much he liked having the old bat around until she took to retired life and was gone. He's not looking forward to going down that road himself, one of these – many, _many_ years from now, somewhere in the very distant future.

'Already at it, eh lads?'

He's younger than Sam, maybe even younger than Chris, so he's hardly in the place to be calling them lads. Sam bares his teeth as he grins, and Gene claps him on the shoulder. 'Who's to say we ever stop?'

_9:53 am_

'So – it's all good?'

Sam stops, turns about, looks back at him. 'What do you mean?'

'You're all sorted out, yeah?'

Sam smirks, then rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, I'm all sorted out. I'm going to regret not bringing a lunch in with me today, but...' He shrugs slightly. 'We've handled worse.'

They could have turned back, but it was Sam who fussed at him and said no, it would be okay. 'Come on, let's see what awaits us down the yellow brick road, eh Guv?' He turns away and pushes his way through the door into the bullpen, and Gene follows him on in.

He scans the room, Sam still at his side. There's the core of CID – Ray, at his desk already, flipping through his copy of Just Jugs; Annie, already at work, typing up something up; there's no sign of Chris yet, his desk is empty, so hopefully RCS hasn't swooped in and carried him off, the vultures. When that bastard Litton found out what a good shot Chris was – which was a surprise to the lot of them, really – he'd had an eye on him ever since. They've lost a lot of their number, but they've gained plenty more. Seems like, no matter what, there's some of his officers that don't want to stray too far away from him, no matter how much time ends up passing by.

'Where's Skelton?'

'Off in the loo, or maybe he's already mooning over his Southern bird – who the bloody hell knows.' Ray tosses his magazine down onto his desk. 'I know I've asked this before – apologies, Boss – but how do you do it? If I had to live with Tyler, I'd have offed myself by now.' He pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth, looks extra resentful as he starts mashing it with his teeth. Smoke breaks are to be taken _outside_ , and they've all got Sam to blame for that one. Smoking less has had its ups and downs, and one less thing to argue about.

Sam's smirk is sharp now, close to mirthless, and he saunters on over to his desk and yanks the chair out with one hand. 'Ray, if you and I were house mates, I'd have murdered you long, long ago. The Guv and I have something special – but yes, splitting the rent fifty fifty makes things much easier on both of us. You and Chris should try it out, before someone else swoops in and carries him away.'

Annie doesn't hide her laugh, though she does duck her head to get back to her report, but Sam smiles over at her, and Annie smiles back. Even Gene smiles to himself, but then Fred strides on into the bullpen, the proverbial fanfare blowing, sheaf of paper clutched in one hand. 'Got some work here for you lazy sods to attend to. Any takers?'

Sam moves fast when he wants to, it makes Gene dizzy. He'd been striding on over to take the report from Fred, but Sam's on it already, scanning the paper. His smirk twists into a tight grimace.

'Well, good news, all – looks like it's going to be one of those days.'

'Oh? Did something nice happen, Guv?' Chris smiles and waves at Sam. 'Morning, Boss.'

'Morning, Chris.' Sam hands the paper over to Gene, and he's scowling before he gets to the end of it. 'No, just, crime never takes a rest. Good news for us, yes, bad news for the rest of the city.'

'Less chatter, more moving.' Gene doesn't even have to direct the lot of them out the door, they're already on the move.

_11:42 am_

Gene grabs Sam by the arm and steers him away from the crowd of the Hairy Marys. He mucked about the crime scene as carefully as he could, but now that forensics is on site, there's little more that he can do, other than breathe down their necks. Which is what he's been doing, as well as belting out orders, sharply. Sam's mood had been holding steady all morning, but now it's dropped off a bloody sharp cliff. There's a very likely tie between that and the number of dead bodies they have to deal with, but why be so obvious?

'Christ, Tyler, are you trying to run the poor men off? They have it hard enough already, without you acting like you're after their heads. Come on.' He gives Sam a tug. Sam tugs back, harder.

'I'm fine,' he says, but Gene doesn't let him go. There's a chippy on one corner, and Sam would fuss at all the grease, but there's also a little shop shop open on the other, a sign in the window saying there's fresh fruit available. 'Look, we need to get back to the station, take a look through the witness statements that have been gathered already – our men have been on it, we'll nail the bastard the way we always do.' They don't always though, do they? There's a few slippery ones who've managed to get away, but if they ever did dare return to Gene's territory, he'd show them the error of their ways. Warren learned that the hard way, but he was only just one of them. But then, unlike Warren, they weren't all sharp enough to try and go through someone that Gene cared for, instead of just aiming for Gene himself. When Warren came crawling back, the way Gene suspected he one day would, thinking to do the both of them harm, they dealt with him – together.

'Come on, I told you, I'll make sure you get fed. They're fine here, they don't need you stomping about and kicking up the dust.' Sam nods, slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath. 'Sam?'

'Okay, look, you're right. We should have turned around and went back to the flat, I'm really regretting how I forgot to pack my lunch now. Are you happy now?'

Gene rolls his eyes. 'What for? For you making yourself suffer because you're a twonk? I'm giddy.'

Sam rolls his eyes sharply, huffing out a laugh. 'Thanks for the honest response. Look – I'm sure you've eyeballed them both already, but you check out the chippy and I'll see what they have at the little shop. We can meet back in ten at the car.'

He nods, because he had – it's what you get for being a detective. 'You got what you need?'

Sam pats his jacket, right close to his heart. 'Yep.' He wouldn't have left _that_ at home, now would he?

'Excellent then – then let's call this one more good plan from my very favourite DI.' Sam smirks at him. They've both been offered promotions over the years, they don't have to be where they are – only, they are. CID is theirs, as long as they are needed. That they're also each other's...

Gene coughs to clear his throat. 'So, back in ten, right?'

Sam nods, and off they both go.

_2:19 pm_

They know how to work around each other without having to ask for it, or converse on any of the little details. If the witness needs a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, proverbially or not, then Sam tends to take the lead. If they need rougher guidance to get them to share their deepest, darkest secrets, then it's all up to Gene. He doesn't tend to bloody his knuckles on irritating nonces any more, and that suits him just fine, as well as pleasing Sam – he certainly doesn't think of himself as weaker, just that he's honed certain other skills to such a sharp edge, it isn't necessary. Sam can be the wild, rough one, if that's what they need to turn the tables upside down – he plays the mad bastard too well sometimes, almost convinces Gene it's real and not for show, the way he almost had Gene believing all the wrong things back when it was Crane he was trying to put away – but then he still has no poker face when it comes to playing the actual game, even after six long years. Few know how good a shoulder Gene is to lean on, and not even when he's mostly faking it for the sake of getting a witness to tell them what they need to hear.

Today, it's the old dependable – Gene's the bad cop, Sam's the good cop, and still just as bloody gorgeous as ever.

_4:30 pm_

There's soft clicking from all across the room, various officers typing up their reports. Sam's working dutifully as well, and he doesn't even look smug. No, times are changing, and Sam's rolling right along with it, taking it all in stride. He looks up when the Southern bird, Shaz, stops by his desk and smiles down at him as she offers him a cuppa – she'd already been by Chris's desk, she's making her way about the room. They strike up a conversation – they're good enough mates, if that's the right word, off the clock. Shaz and Annie are friends, and Shaz and Chris are dating, and Gene's heard too bloody much about that, all thanks to Ray. So on Fridays, sometimes, when Ray and Gene have their darts games, Sam and the others go out to different clubs, listening to music, get some dancing in too. Gene could be jealous about it if he wanted to, but it's not worth the energy. He's glad Sam's got friends outside the job, even if they are all tied _to_ the job, who can do things with him when his and Gene's interests diverge. Sam always comes home to him, after all.

Gene sighs, and smiles, and turns the blinds down. He's got some work to do, too.

_5:03 pm_

'Beer o'clock – right on the dot.' Sam smirks at him, buttoning up his jacket. All the others have already filed out, just as sharply. Gene favours his office now more than he ever has before. The well oiled machine that is CID.

'Says the bloke who doesn't drink any more.'

'Bad habit, never meant to pick it up in the first place.' Sam sticks close to his side as they leave the bullpen, passing out into the hallway, the lift beyond. Sam mostly allows him his vices, and sometimes – well, quite often, really – Sam's one of them, so all in all he's benefiting as well.

But Sam's given up drinking, and he's not given Gene a hard time and demanded that he drop the habit completely, just like that. If it just so happens that Gene doesn't find hours and hours of boozing as interesting as he might have, three – no, six years ago? – then who's really to blame? Time changes everything, and the more of it that passes, the further away you are from the person you used to be.

Maybe Gene wasn't always fond of change, but he's come to appreciate some aspects of it. Yes, some of them are very good, indeed. And he's fond of this Sam who helps keep him in line, who does him that same thing in return.

Sam bumps against his shoulder. 'What's going on in your head right now?'

Gene huffs out a laugh, bumps back. 'D'you really want to know?'

'Wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it.'

He stops, so Sam stops too, looks back at him. The click of the lights going off are following them down the way, but Sam – in that one moment – looks as young as he should be but as old as he really is, all at once. He should let his hair grow out again, but it's that same neat cut he favours the most. When he does let it grow out, it curls softly. Gene likes running his fingers through it, but then, he likes running it through Sam's hair no matter the length, touching him all over, and kissing him. That's not real shadow beneath Sam's eyes, just the lighting that's grown dimmer and dimmer. But the weight of it still carries the whole of their history together, things that Gene should say but never have, and the ones that he has, which surprised them both on happening. It's not always been sunshine and rainbows. No, they've had it rough – might have some more rougher patches, somewhere down the line. He knew it was over, really over, with his missus when he stopped caring enough to fight it. At the same time, Sam's gone through too much, and him as well. Do they always have to fight?

'Got a lot done today, feel good about it. I think that's it.'

Sam smiles, steps in closer. He leans in, breath low and warm, kisses the corner of Gene's mouth. He'd like to stop Sam completely, turn it into something more, but that sort of public display gets dangerous, fast. The office must have their assumptions, but they don't need the bare, honest facts. Sam's said that CCTV is gonna bring with it an entire new wave of change.

'It's my round, right?'

Sam won't be doing any of the drinking, but he does still enjoy buying Gene a drink or two. Gene nods, and Sam's smile brightens. He steps back, and the moment ends.

_6:31 pm_

They're home after a few drinks (on Gene's part) and a few hands of poker (on Sam's). He wins some but he loses more than that, and he constantly laments his forever unattainable poker face. Some folks just aren't good at lying, are they? Gene is hanging his coat up over Sam's jacket, and Sam's already headed off to the kitchen to wash his hands and see what's in the fridge (they really do need to shop), and it gives Gene a moment's pause. The last time Sam hid anything _big_ from him, it might have ended them both.

Sam's switched the radio on, some noisy song that Gene probably knows the name of but doesn't care to recall. Still, he smiles. They came out stronger from that, didn't they? They can face anything together, him and Sam.

_7:00 pm_

The truth is, Gene knows it's more complicated beneath than what it seems at the surface. Sam doesn't like to call it a disease, and Gene's mostly aware of his effect on his partner's feelings these days, so if Sam doesn't want to talk about the diabetes, then Gene doesn't either. It follows Sam through the day, from the start of it to the end, from each time he checks his blood throughout the day, and all the things he's cut out that he used to enjoy because he isn't allowed to enjoy them any more. It's more than a matter of him not drinking, or even Gene drinking less, or eating in a more picky fashion than he did already (and that was a lot). He doesn't like thinking it, personally, because he doesn't want to label Sam with one flaw that is beyond his control. Is it really a flaw, or just nature doing its bastard best to give him a hard time?

It doesn't make Sam, or break him. It's just one small part of him, and he eats right and he exercises and he does what he can to maintain it, because that's how he's meant to fight it. It won't win, because Sam won't let it, and Gene won't let Sam give in.

He's sat in his room now, back to Gene, in his vest and trousers, shirt tossed onto the bed. There's some light pouring in through the slits between the curtains, golden bright. They've got a big bed in Gene's room, but that's _their_ room, and this one is Sam's for the sake of their cover – they're just flatmates, after all. Sam keeps a desk in there for when he feels like writing, or has some work he wants to do in private, or wants to listen to some music, or just needs to be alone. There's a bed, which he keeps clean and tidy, does extra laundry each week just to be careful. Sam also keeps his guitar in there, and Gene has never, ever, mocked him for wanting to play it, or for being so good at it when he did start at it again. It even helped them once in a very odd undercover assignment, but Gene knows it's more important to Sam than something connected to work.

He's got his own interests separate from Sam, and he isn't faking it the way he faked it with his wife. He can be honest with Sam in ways he never tried with her, but then, they've been built on something completely different, and that from the very start.

He practices here, and Gene sits on the bed, makes comments as he plays. It's their room, too. It's all theirs, their flat, their everything. Sometimes, he wishes he could have something more, or he didn't have to hide it, but even as times keep changing, some things stay the same. He's sure there's some things they won't ever get – they couldn't possibly marry – but Sam shrugs and tells him to never say never. It couldn't have been like that in Hyde – and Sam would say something along the lines of no, not really, but it was close.

'It'll get better,' Sam's told him, will probably tell him again. Yeah, but Gene could say that about his diabetes, couldn't he? How bloody unfair is that, genetics against him. He says his mum never did tell him about it, so it wasn't something from her side of the family, so it must be something from his dad's. Gene knows some subjects are untouchable – Sam knows the same. They've both decided it's best not to talk about each other's fathers. His dad skipped off when he was young, Gene knows that much at least, and he doesn't keep in touch with those relations.

Sam used to act like this was something he deserved, but now – more or less – he just acts like it's something that he's stuck with. Like anything else. Like Gene.

'You need a hand with that?'

Sam's actions are steady as he goes about priming the needle. 'Nope, I'm good.' He was shaking, the first time Gene found him with one of them in hand – but Gene doesn't really know, even after all these years, if it's because Sam just wasn't good at it yet, or if he was shaking because he was hurt, and confused, and scared. Gene felt some of those things, too. They were still living in the house that had been Gene's and his wife's, and for Gene to piece things together, picking up the evidence, and then find out – for all he thought – that Sam was taking drugs? It had shattered him. What else was he supposed to think? He had let Sam into his heart, into his home.

Now his heart is Sam's, and so is the home they both reside in. Funny how that happened, only no, it really isn't.

'You sure?'

He chuckles. 'Yes, Gene, I'm sure.'

'Okay – just, you know. Checking.'

'I appreciate your concern.' It's close to clinical, how he gets it done, but he has needed help before, and Gene could do it for him if he couldn't do it himself. 'Have you decided what you want for dinner?'

'It isn't really fair.' That wasn't what Sam had asked him, though, was it? 'You're the health-minded one, you exercise, you don't smoke. Your biggest vice is the music you listen to, and God, is that even really music?'

'It's okay, Gene – I'm okay, we're okay.' Sam puts his stuff away, picks up his button up shirt and pulls it on. He's gained some weight. That was one more clue that had Gene thinking that something was wrong with Sam, way back when. And, yes, he was right, something had been wrong. But not what he had thought. Sometimes – not too often – he wishes it could have been something simple, something he could punch enough and make go away. But lifting a hand to Sam for any reason makes him feel sick in his gut, makes him think of his dad. It was one thing, once upon a time. But that was long, long ago. He's made some jokes about it – better diabetes than cancer, yeah? – but Gene's not appreciated them, and Sam's stopped making them. It's better like that.

He hasn't always been so understanding. He's been grouchy, outright depressed, so down in the dumps Gene had to dig him out, pulling him out forcefully. Because no, he's said it before, he'll say it again and he won't stop saying it: he won't let Sam give in.

'I love you.'

Sam smiles. He steps in closer, shirt only half-buttoned, collar draped open wide, something sparking in his eyes, and not just the warm sunlight coming from one side of the room. 'What was that for?'

Gene shrugs, takes a step to him. He doesn't seem smaller, or more vulnerable, or more _anything_ than usual. Because there's strength in his eyes, in every movement that he makes, and whatever Sam's made it through already, he can do it again and again and again, for as long as it's needed, for as long as he's got Gene with him. He's strong enough on his own – together, they're indomitable. 'Just felt like saying it.' He could shrug again, or step back. But Sam's lips brush against his, and Gene tucks an arm about him, Sam's arms sliding about his waist.

'That's good to know. I love you.'

They kiss, and kiss some more, and then they take a step away, and time keeps on flowing. There's dinner to make, and they bicker about that, and a few other things, as they settle into their very comfortable nightly routine.

_9:13 pm_

Gene's flipping through the channels (he loves this remote control, after he got used to the concept of them); Sam's snuggled against him, a light blanket covering them both. The sofa isn't good for Gene's back, but he'll endure it for moments like this. Really, if it came to it, he knows without needing to ask that Sam would do the same.

They watched some telly, and Sam mused about his next appointment with his quack, if they'd be happy with the dietary changes Sam has had to make – his blood glucose was hard to get under control, at first, and it's spiked one way or the other, always having to make them readjust, and them always doing what needed to be done.

Gene finds something to watch that's good enough background noise, then sets the thing down. Sam says they'll get even better, flashier, fancier, more streamlined and much higher tech. He's been right about this already, and if some of his habits seemed odd at first – the money he's put into some things, keeping them in mint condition (they'll pay for themselves one day, just you wait and see), well, Gene's used to it, mostly.

Sam says it won't all be good – when I'm right about the first female Prime Minister, you'll understand – but hell, Gene didn't think any real good would come of that anyway. 1979, Sam's told him, will be very trying – but they've all been, in one way or another, he didn't need Sam telling him _that_. He wonders, sometimes, if Sam knows all these things – the way he believes he does, and Gene believes he knows _something_ – aren't there other things he could try and change? He tried that with his dad, Sam said – one time, he tried talking about him, and it failed. It didn't work, and Sam accepted he was merely here for the ride.

Earlier, he'd said to Sam – the way Sam had questioned him earlier: 'What's going on in your head right now?'

And Sam, being himself, had bit back with: 'D'you really want to know?' The difference being, Sam hadn't waited for Gene to tell him to go on, had done it with no further prodding. 'Just thinking about all the things that could go wrong.' He's mentioned them before – so has his doctor – and Gene couldn't forget it all if he tried. 'I worry... you know, when I get a headache, and my vision is blurry, is it because I'm tired, or is it – ' He doesn't say the word, like speaking it would make it worse.

'So you have to get reading glasses – bet you'd look good in them,' Gene had said, and kissed him. 'Sam, just... not to make light of the situation, because that isn't what I'm doing,' and Sam had grumbled, like he didn't quite believe him, but Gene went on. 'Keep doing what you're doing. We'll deal with the rest of it if, and when, we have to – okay?'

Sam had sighed softly, but then he'd given Gene a kiss in return. 'Okay, deal.' Of course, then he'd said 'D'you really think I'd look good in glasses?', to which Gene had responded 'Yes, and only that'.

Sam's not saying much, right now. He's breathing softly, firm weight against Gene's body, already deeply asleep. Gene's eyelids are drooping, as a slumbering Sam is a very effective sleeping aid.

He'll be out like a light in no time fast.

_10:28 pm_

A kiss to the cheek, and Sam's voice softly droning on, is what wakes him. 'Come on,' Sam tells him. 'It's time to go to sleep.'

Gene's very comfortable already, and he grabs for Sam – too slow, he's too tired, and Sam too quick – before flopping back, feigning defeat. 'You woke me up just to say it's time to go to sleep?' His voice is rough around the edges. The time, he notes as he squints at the clock, is too bloody late.

'It's the principle of the matter.' Sam says, with a smile, and a sigh.

Gene, and not for the first time ever, agrees.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Basaltgrrl** 's original sketch: [click here](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc195/Loz8ya/1B8A26C7-A16B-429A-AE8F-BE9B3512B7FD_zpswawmowzb.jpg)!
> 
> So, why did I decide to do what I did? I looked at the picture, and I saw what I could have done that was OBVIOUS, and stressful, and endlessly full of angst and heartbreak for the both of them, so instead of going with that, decided, FUCK THAT, I am going to do this instead! The idea took me quickly ( **Breval** , again, helped so much with the brainstorming, she's the very best), and I went through a few drafts before I found something that worked absolutely perfectly for me. There was, at first, a bit more angst and heartbreak, but as I further researched and spoke to people who both had type 2 Diabetes and/or helped take care of someone who did, I felt that writing a story with the overarching moral of "this is a thing that happens but it doesn't have to break you or ruin your life, you can instead stand up and be stronger than it instead" was very important. So! Let there be joy! Life can throw things at you, but you can throw it right back. So, that's why I did what I did.
> 
> The version of Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day' I listened to that ended up helped me decide what I was going to call this was his Lou Reed & Friends Version. David Bowie was one of the singers in it; he was also one of the producers for the album as well as played keyboards for the track. That's just fitting for the Life on Mars fandom, yeah?
> 
> ♥


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